


Song Remains the Same

by treefrogie84



Series: Not a Fix-It [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Not A Fix-It, Post-Canon, after 15.20, mcd aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27975795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: The heaven he deserves. With John and Mary over yonder and Cas... not here and...The heaven he deserves, with his bloody hands and weapons. Cas lied. He really isn't any more than Daddy's blunt instrument, and weapons don't get to rest.
Series: Not a Fix-It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048991
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Song Remains the Same

**Author's Note:**

> so... that finale, huh? Yeah. It was a cluster. But because I am who I am, I can't write fix-its without working through the broken bits first. And this one had a lot of broken bits.
> 
> I made myself cry while writing this (and while editing it, and again while reading over it one last time before posting), so if you need to NOT read this for your own mental health? I get it. Take care of you.

“And your mom and dad… They got a place over yonder. It ain’t just Heaven, Dean. It’s the Heaven you deserve. And we’ve been waiting for you.” Bobby reaches into the cooler between them, pulling out a couple of beers and popping them open.

Dean fumbles his beer, taking a long drink to hide how his blood— or whatever he has now— runs cold at the thought. “So, Jack did all that?”

Bobby shrugs, finishing his beer. “Well, Cas helped.”

Dean huffs, trying to keep focused on what Bobby is telling him and not… that. Cas helped rebuild Heaven. That’s something.

“It’s a brave new world,” Bobby says contentedly, watching the tree covered hills that surround them. “No monsters, just you, your family, and time to relax.”

Dean nods absently, drinking his beer and trying to relax. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? Even though…

Biting his lip, he looks around and spots the Impala parked at the backend of the parking lot— where he would have parked her, to avoid the scratches and dents that come from careless assholes in busy parking lots— and stands abruptly, draining his beer. “I’m gonna—“

“He’ll be along when it’s time,” Bobby throws out, like he knows what Dean’s thinking.

He. Which he? Sam? Please, Jack, no. John? Pass. He’s said everything he needs to say to John. Cas?

Dean slams into the driver’s seat, throwing her in gear and speeding down the highway.

The heaven he deserves. Alone until someone deigns to join him, forever John’s blunt instrument.

The road stretches out in front of him, a forever highway towards the horizon.

“Just you and me, Baby.” He pets the dash, ignoring the lump in his throat. “Now… bring me that horizon.” He tries to put a face on it, pushing everything down where it won’t matter, but he’s too raw. It comes out shaky and half-sobbed, but that doesn’t matter.

Forty-some odd years, he knows how to keep moving, even when his heart is stuttering in his chest.

( _If bacon is what kills me, I win._ He lost. He always knew he would. He’s nothing more than an extension of John’s will, an extra gun, and when he ran out of bullets… well.)

Snatches of poetry flash through his mind, walking songs meant for weary travelers or lovers far from home, but still the sun sets in his eyes, blinding him to everything but the road.

The Impala veers off the road without his input, shuddering to a stop on the shoulder as the tears he can no longer restrain overflow. Wrapping his arms around the steering wheel, he lets Baby support him as he falls apart sobbing.

Jack and Cas created this. Created the heaven he _deserves_. At least he made it to heaven. Pushing himself upright, he twists in his seat, setting his back to the door as he stretches his legs out. Even here, his reward, his knee aches and his head throbs.

Never stop. Patrol the open roads of this new heaven. He knows his job, his purpose. Keep…

Keep fighting.

Scrabbling at the door, he falls out of the Impala, barely getting a hand under him so he doesn’t face plant into the asphalt while he pukes up the rising nausea and fear and panic.

Spitting out the remnants, he reaches for the water bottle tucked between the seat and the floorboard, rinsing out his mouth and making a mental note to replace it the next time he stops for gas.

If he ever stops for gas again. He’s driven for hours, following the sun like some sort of fucked up myth, and this is the first time he’s stopped.

Carefully, he sits up, pulling himself back into the car. Weapons don’t get to rest, and that’s all he’s good for. Because this is the heaven he deserves, with John and Bobby at his back, with a road and a job in front of him.

(It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it _hurts_. A mindless attack dog, good for only one thing, and he thought—

It doesn’t matter what he thought. This is what he deserves, that’s what Bobby said, and Cas must have agreed with him and…)

The sun is still setting, a dream of rest he’ll never reach. Throwing bait in the water and letting the world take care of itself. There’ll be peace when he’s done, except he’ll never be done.

Despite everything, he’s not good enough. He’ll never be good enough, because this is heaven and nothing changes, let alone him. Everything he is, is his father. Who despite years of abuse, of neglect, of everything, is ‘over yonder.’

Cas lied. Dean’s nothing, a sentient gun to be pointed at whatever this week’s big bad is. Free will is an illusion.

Throwing the Impala into drive, he floors it, slamming his foot on the pedal and seeing just how fast she can make it to sixty and beyond. Running, because what other option does he have?

His chest aches and he pushes it down. It’s just like earth. Shut up and do the job. And never, ever, let the people around you know they hurt you. He was drunk, Dean was loud or nosy or got caught or wasn’t fast enough… He pulls the reasons around him like armor, plating himself against the inevitable.

The road never ends, it carries on.


End file.
